Daylight
by Luvergirl of Books
Summary: Sometimes, we have to make difficult decisions, just because that's the hand that life deals us. That can mean hiding out…or taking our chances in the daylight. (A series of oneshots for Needtobreathe's album Daylight) [WARNING: will contain major lyric usage :)]
1. Don't Wait for Daylight

**DAYLIGHT**

_Angst/Suspense_

* * *

Sarah breathed in a shuddering sob, threatening to give in to hysteria. Never before in her life had she been forced to undergo this kind of stress, and in truth, she wasn't sure what she had to do. The night pervaded through her conscious thought, drowning her, suffocating her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the turmoil in her mind.

"One…two…three…four," she whispered, attempting to calm herself with repetitive action. _Just get your thoughts in order_, Sarah told herself. "One…two…three…four…"

She was just a lowly town singer, playing for money in the local taverns, joining up with the bands for a couple of nights at a time to make a living. She had never meant to hurt anyone. She had never meant to do anything wrong.

She had especially never expected to meet Jason.

* * *

A tall, broad shouldered man in his early thirties, Jason's muscular build and fit appearance belied his humble claim of being a simple tradesman. Sarah had instinctively known that there was much more to him than that—there was more than meets the eye with any person, and she had known that Jason was no exception to this.

And he was so nice, too. So sweet, he was. It was no wonder she let herself be tricked.

Singing that night was a band from Norgate that was passing through Whitby on their way south. Sarah had easily struck a friendship up with the lead band member, who played an easy rhythm on the guitarra, and they had decided to work together for the next couple of nights. An unknown patron in the tavern, Jason listened raptly to the music during his meal and his wine afterward. Like others in the smoky inn, he tossed in a few coins to the musicians in appreciation.

It wasn't until after the music was finished that matters came to a head.

Sarah was sitting at the bar nursing a small mug of coffee when he came and perched on the stool next to her. "Nice job you guys did back there," Jason commented, making eye contact. She liked that.

"I wasn't sure how well we would do," she said lightly. "I haven't ever played with them before, and we didn't even practice beforehand."

Jason looked suitably surprised. "I never would have known it," he said.

Eyeing him up and down, Sarah allowed a ghost of a smile to pass on her face. "What's your name, stranger?" she asked playfully.

"Jason Revelle," he answered, seeing her impish attitude and reflecting it happily. "And yours, miss?"

"Sarah Frank." Eyeing him slyly, Sarah covered up her grin with a sip from her mug.

Jason was unperturbed. "Well, Miss Sarah Frank," he said, giving a sweeping gesture at the bar, "would you care to let me buy you a drink?"

She sat down her coffee, placing her chin on her hand. "I don't suppose it'd be too much of a burden," she teased, and watched him while he got the attention of the barkeep.

The night wore on, but the time passed quickly for the young man and woman. Sarah found herself more than willing to share stories and experiences with this man she had just met. Particularly after a few drinks. He was a perfect listener, asking just enough questions to keep her flow of words fed.

Later Sarah would realize that she learned precious little about this stranger named Jason Revelle. At the time, it hadn't bothered her. She learned that he had grown up in Coledale, but, wanting adventure in his life, had moved to Whitby as soon as he was capable of living on his own. Since then, he had made a fair living as a merchant, taking small trips now and then to ensure his success as a trader. Jason had lived in the same town as she, just across the river from the castle. Idly, Sarah had spent a moment wondering why she had never seen him, but quickly allowed the thought to pass.

Contrarily, Sarah seemed at relative ease with telling this near stranger all about herself, which was rare in the extreme—Jason just had such an open, guileless face, so easy to trust.

That night she had gotten quite a few drinks under her belt. Unthinkingly, Sarah had agreed on going to his place, but was truly content at the time. Lonely and more than ready to be cared for like other girls, she had went with him, hoping for something more to come of them together. She had had relationships before, but none of them for a substantial amount of time—and none of the boys as sweet as Jason was. Sarah couldn't be blamed in wanting a relationship, wanting to be loved. And that was just how Jason made her feel.

They went too far that night, she had to admit. She shouldn't have accepted Jason's offer of coming home with him; maybe then, the temptation for them both wouldn't have been so great. But as it was, she allowed the enticement to get the better of her, and before she knew it, she was lying in his bed next to him, breathing hard.

Sarah should have left right then. Granted, she should have left before this point—shouldn't have even been there—but with matters that far along, she should have got up and left. But she didn't think about it then, only about the happiness she felt.

* * *

"Johnny, do you know a Jason Revelle?"

Sarah was at the marketplace the morning after meeting Jason. She was leaning against the baker's booth, where the baker, John Rolen, was selling his aromatic commodity.

John turned to face her as he organized warm loaves of bread into a small basket. "Yeah," he said, "I know Jason. Good guy."

Nodding, she picked at an apple she had bought minutes before, tossing it back and forth from one hand to the other. "I met him briefly last night. He seemed like a nice guy," Sarah agreed, keeping him talking.

"He's a good guy," John continued. "Got a lot going for him."

She nodded, feeling like some sort of acknowledgement was needed. The baker was continuing.

"His wife is a pretty girl, too," he said. "She's a tiny thing, but she sure is pretty."

Sarah froze. His wife?

"It was nice talking to you, John," she said awkwardly, hastily, "but I have to get home. I think I left a window open, and it looks like it could rain any second."

To an extent, she wasn't lying. The scudding dark clouds overhead marked for rain, and a lot of it. There was no open window, of course. Sarah hurried away.

In not five minutes time, the clouds split and rain thundered down from the heavens. John looked up thankfully at the stretched canvas over his booth, and with a sigh, began to pack up his goods. This rain would last all day, and his sales would be nonexistent. He looked up at the sky. "Hope the lass makes it home before too much rain gets in through that window," he said to himself.

But Sarah had much bigger things on her mind.

* * *

She knew where he lived, of course. By this time, the location was firmly planted in her mind—she couldn't forget whether she wanted to or not. And now, this is where Sarah was headed.

By some miraculous twist of fate, Jason was home. At the front door, Sarah raised her hand and rapped on the door, and she heard footsteps form inside before the door swung open. "Hi, Sarah," he greeted, giving her a disarming smile.

With some difficulty, she had to force herself not to be disarmed. "Why didn't you tell me?" she said mournfully, forgoing a greeting. Jason's smile froze on his face, then he pursed his lips in thought.

"Why don't you come in?" he ushered, already knowing what this was about. Stepping aside, he took her dark blue cloak, hanging it on a peg near the door. It was remarkably similar to his own cloak, he realized. The hood of his was a bit deeper, but the color and cut were remarkably alike. Then Jason realized that he had been gawking at the side-by-side cloaks for some moments, and he turned to face the confrontation head-on.

"I didn't think you knew about Heather," he said now.

Outside, lightning split the air and thunder cracked loud as the clouds spilled open. Rain thundered on the roof.

Sarah, who had perched herself lightly on the couch and waited for him to sit, turned her hard glare at him. "I didn't," she said, her voice low and husky. "If I would have known you were married, I never would have went with you last night. Do I really seem like someone who would do that?"

He knew that she didn't. But Jason sensed that she wasn't really looking for an answer, so he kept quiet and simply shook his head, dejected. Sarah averted her gaze to the wall.

"I didn't know," she repeated, rubbing her knees. "I thought this was different than all the other times. I thought you were different."

"I am different," he defended quietly.

Sarah eyed him coldly. "Maybe. But no better."

Jason was truly hurt by her words, but he stopped himself before he protested. He deserved the words she said.

Dropping her head to her hands, Sarah moaned quietly. "I don't even know why I came here," she admitted. "It's not like it'll accomplish anything. If anything at all, there's a better chance now that I'll be seen here. And then people will start to wonder why."

"No one will know from me," Jason said. "I won't tell a soul. We can just pretend like it never happened."

"I'm not sure if that's an option now," she replied. "But we can try."

They both glanced out the window as a particularly loud peal of thunder cracked through the sky. Briskly, Sarah stood from the couch and made her way to the door. "I should probably go," she said.

"You can at least wait until this storm passes, can't you?"

But Sarah was shaking her head before he finished. "I'd rather just go now," she said quietly. She pulled the blue cloak off the peg, put it on, and let herself out the door into the pouring rain.

Jason, not knowing what to say in response to this quick visit, simply sat down on the couch as his mind reeled.

He didn't notice until later that the remaining cloak on the peg was not his. For a moment, he debated going out and stopping Sarah, telling her that she had grabbed the wrong one. But she would be a ways away by now, and wouldn't want to come all the way back just for a slightly different cloak.

Besides, he reasoned, it's not like he'd ever be wearing it again.

* * *

And there lies her problem now. She hadn't known until later that evening that she had taken Jason's cloak instead of hers. The rain had petered out and the sun was going down as Sarah held his cloak in her hands, her mind working in overtime thinking about the events of the previous night.

Some instinct unbeknownst to her led her to reach inside the small inner pocket, and she was somewhat surprised when she found a note. It wasn't addressed to her, but, in a moment of curiosity, she unfolded it and read the contents.

Now, she wondered if that was the right thing to do.

She sobbed into her hands. If it was up to her, life wouldn't be so complicated. Simplicity would win out every time, and decisions would be clear-cut and easy. Not like this. This would be something that would never have to be contemplated by anyone.

Sarah moved her hands away from her face long enough to stare at the floor, where the note now lay after she had thrust it away in surprise. In a nutshell, it was the note that had caused her inner turmoil.

_Heather_

_I'm sorry. That's the first thing that comes to my mind. I'm sorry. I know that people always think of better alternatives than what I have decided, but, honestly, no other alternative could handle the stress in my mind. I realize that is no excuse, but you'll have to forgive me on that account—I don't have one._

_This was my last ditch effort. You know how much you mean to me, and that was why I had to do what I did. You deserve better than I can give you, and this is how I'm giving you a chance to find what you deserve._

_By the time you get home, there will be no use in calling anyone for help. I'll be long dead. I don't plan to rush into things; late tonight will be the time instead of now, so I'm giving myself a chance to back out. Though, at this point, I'm more than certain that I __won't__ back out._

_I love you, you have to realize that. It's because I love you that I feel this has to be done. I have done things that I shouldn't have, and I regret it deeply, and, honesty, you don't deserve that._

_I'm sorry that I couldn't think of any other way. I guess that, in order for you to have the chance at the life you deserve, I have to pay with mine. But then, your life means more to me than my own. I love you._

_Jason_

It was her fault, Sarah knew. Sure, he had tricked her, but she had let herself be tricked. She should have known better. And now, Jason was going to pay for it with his life.

If she did nothing, Jason would kill himself. He might have already done so. But it she chose to do something…then everyone would know. It would be just a matter of time before the entire village knew of what she and Jason had done—and that was a reputation Sarah wasn't sure she could handle.

What could she do, anyway? She could hardly just go to Jason's house and stop him from killing himself, however he planned to do it. The deed might already be done; then she would just be wasting her time, and still everyone would figure out what had happened…

Sarah had two choices, that she knew. She could go and tell someone and get their help to save Jason, who didn't really even want to be saved. Or, she could sit here, by herself, in the dark, and wait for them to come to her with news that Jason was dead.

There was no way that she had left his house—either time—without someone seeing her. There would be someone who had seen her at his door. And as she knew well, searching eyes would pry for the answers you hide…until you let them find the light.

And what if they didn't believe her when she told them that she just went there to leave? Sarah couldn't have known that anything would happen—she had simply left wearing his cloak, where she had found his final note. Which was meant for his wife.

Sarah put her face in her hands once more.

_Is this all that you can do?_ she asked herself angrily. _Wait for them to come to you? What's even worse is that you're trying to tell yourself that it's the right thing to do!_

Being a singer, Sarah had always prided herself on her voice. But if she couldn't use her voice now for something that really mattered, what was the use in having it?

She couldn't run from tonight. She just had to open her eyes to what was before her. After all, the stars fade with the light. There was nothing else to do except to sing out—her voice was all she had. It was all up to her.

And she knew the answer. She couldn't wait for daylight.

* * *

Sarah galloped into the clearing, checking her horse and bringing the roan to a stop and sliding down from the saddle, not taking the time to tether the horse. As she ran to the front door of the cabin, she heard the bay mare in the stable neigh, but Sarah dismissed the sound.

She ran up onto the verandah and was just about to knock on the door when it swung open, revealing the tall man in the doorway.

"Hello," the Ranger said, his voice low. "Do you know how late it is?"

Sarah had to fight back the fear that was gathering in her throat. Sure, this Ranger had known she was at the door before she knocked, but he was her only hope now.

"Ranger Gilan!" she said breathlessly. "I need your help. Please! A man's going to die, he may have already killed himself—"

Gilan calmed her quickly, restraining his urge to shake her and have her explain more. He saw the fear in this girl's eyes, and he knew that she was telling the truth. "Take me there," he said gently, and Sarah followed, talking quickly, as he went to saddle Blaze.

* * *

Bringing Blaze to a stop in the yard, Gil slid down from the saddle. "Go, Sarah," he urged. "There's nothing you can do, and I don't want you caught up in anything if something happens." The young Ranger watched her nod, tears coursing freely down her cheeks, and she wheeled her horse and was off. She had done her part and sung out, and she fully believed the Ranger when he said she could do no more to help.

But he didn't stay to watch her go. Turning, Gilan shouldered the front door open, taking in his surroundings as the door swung wildly on its hinges.

Nothing.

Proceeding more slowly now, he checked the dining room and adjacent kitchen in vain. Not knowing for sure what he was about to encounter, he nudged open the door that he assumed led to the bedroom.

At the other end of the room was a man, his back to Gilan. The man—Jason—was standing on a chair and had a rope tied around his neck, the other end of which was tied off to a beam of the abnormally high ceiling. The rope was short, but Gilan realized that it would do the job.

Gil saw the beginnings of the movement before the movement even started. The man made to kick the chair out from under his feet and let the rope go taut. Instantly, Gil realized that he would never make it to the man in time to stop the chair from spinning away.

He knew what he had to do. As the chair made the first indication of moving, Gilan's throwing knife was out of its sheath and into his hand. Then the wooden chair went careening away, and the knife, seemingly of its own volition, was spinning toward its target.

The rope never stood a chance. Just as it became taut with the weight of the man, the throwing knife was upon it, the razor-sharp steel shearing through the fibers of the rope. Jason, encountering no resistance, crumpled in a heap to the floor.

Leaving the throwing knife quivering in the opposite wall for the time being, Gilan rolled Jason over on his back. Jason didn't resist. Gil drew his saxe, using it to saw through the rope around his neck. To Jason, Gil said softly, "Not on my watch, you don't." The young Ranger's voice was without any malice; gentle, calming, and compassionate.

Jason, surprised and emotionally drained, didn't reply.

_Finis_

* * *

**A/N:** ta-da! So, how did you like it? Was it good, bad, awesome, abhorrent? I liked it. And, of course, I had to bring Gil in there at the end. It is Ranger's Apprentice, after all, so I couldn't just have only OCs—and I wouldn't want that anyway. Who else is going to give justice? That is an amazing song, just like all the other songs on this album. However, unlike the other songs, this one was relatively clear cut. The others will be harder to turn into a story, and some may be little more than drabbles. This one will most likely be the longest—it was rather long, after all.

So, I need you guys' help. The next song on the album is called 'Quit.' I like it, it's a good song. I just have absolutely NO IDEAS of how to make it into a story! So if you don't know the song 'Quit' by Needtobreathe, go look it up, listen to it, and please help me out! No idea is a bad idea; I just have no ideas...help me!


	2. Quit

**A/N:** thank you so very much, Bralt, for your help with coming up with a theme for this song, because I was completely lost. Hope you all like it!

And by the way, just to let you guys know; I edited the first chapter, so it's better now. Easier to read, at least. I had forgotten some line breaks. *grimaces*

On with the show!

* * *

**Quit**

_Drama_

* * *

They locked eyes.

It's funny how a look can transfer feelings that absolutely no words can describe. Wells of happiness, lifetimes of fear, and torrents of regret—all conveyed with naught but a glance. The silence is a powerful force, but the feelings behind it give it meaning; and the look makes it real.

That glance is difficult.

Crowley and Pauline let their own eyes search deep into the gaze of the other's, and they weren't too surprised with what they found. Both of them had known deep down what the other had been going through. But it's one thing to speculate—it's another to see the look in their eyes.

"Can you feel it?"

Crowley shook his head, but said "Probably," anyway.

"I can already feel you letting go."

"Don't you go philosophical on me," the young Ranger said. "I don't think I can deal with that right now."

But Pauline wasn't going to let go that easily. "Everything that I used to know was right…they're now just traces of what they used to be. Honestly, I'm unsure if I could ever tell you no."

"Pauline, just listen, please. I haven't even asked you anything to give you an opportunity to say no."

Pauline tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, trying her best to keep her poise. She didn't say a word.

With a sigh, Crowley averted his eyes. "It's not like you've understood what I've been thinking."

"I need you to remember—" she began.

"There's nothing that I don't remember! That's just it, Pauline, that right there is exactly it. We can't go on like this. You're just completely lost."

Her jaw clenched. "I'm lost, but I'm not forsaken."

"By who?"

For that, she had no answer.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Exactly." He made to turn away. "…I think this is about as far as we're going to go."

Before he could take a step, he felt Pauline's hand on his arm, leading him back around. "Don't just tell me that it's over," she said. "I want to know how we can make it."

"We can't make it!" Crowley said mournfully. "That's what I'm saying. We can't."

She didn't want to take that for an answer. "After we've gotten this far, you're just going to quit?" she accused. "Sure, there have been times when I just wanted to end what we have, but I've pushed through, and we've kept going! Don't you see?"

Crowley turned again. "I do see," he said huskily. "That's just it—we can't keep going. We just can't."

Through a blurry veil of mist in her eyes, Pauline watched him walk away. She couldn't see the tears running down his face as the distance between them spread.

Then again, Crowley thought as he dashed a tear away, the two of them couldn't have been further apart already.

_Finis_

* * *

**A/N:** hmm...that wasn't the best I could have thought of...that was a really hard song, though. Even though I feel I could have done better, I sort of like the way I went with it. Generally, when discussing Crowley/Pauline, people make it to where Pauline was the one who broke it off; a completely understandable idea, considering.

Well, the next song, 'Shine On,' should be good. :) Don't forget to R & R!


	3. Shine On

**Shine On**

_Suspense_

* * *

Somewhere between the end of the whole thing and the beginning, we found ourselves regrouping near the center of the forest. Around a campfire we had gathered ourselves, though I doubted the sense of that notion. There we were, in the middle of a foreign country (against which we had been fighting for some time) fairly out in the open, and assembled around a smoke-emitting bonfire—smart, no?

I didn't think so, either. The commander of our squadron had set the order, so we of course obliged. In my opinion, the commander was an ignorant, worthless piece of work, but regardless of this, none of us would ever dream of going against orders. Out of _all_ harebrained notions, that idea was unheard of.

We had been gathered there for the better part of an hour, and the firelight was luckily beginning to dim. So far, none of the enemy had been sighted nearby, which was doubtlessly a good thing.

Until we heard the noise. The rustling. The trees sent us a warning.

Nearly all eyes turned to the east, the direction from which the noise had come. The worst was ultimately feared. The commander, and man in his mid-forties, then looked to me. "Jack." He gave a jerk of his head in the general direction. "Go check that out, if you would."

That was my job then. I was essentially a tag-along scout of sorts. I _scouted_. I genuinely doubt there was a formal title for it…

I went. In the general direction that the sound had been heard, I followed a small game path through the forest that seemed to lead in the right route. And throughout the way I continued to hear more noises.

To tell the truth, it was rather unsettling.

A scrape; a rustle; a crack. I loosened my sword in its scabbard, expecting something, anything. A crackle; a rustle…

And a figure jumped from behind a tree and ran full pelt toward me. The enemy was closing in fast, and I was in a panic trying to draw my sword. I blinked, and he was five meters away.

Finally, my sword was drawn and we clashed.

Steel flashed and limbs flew about as we tried to fend off each other's attacks. He was good—not great, but good—but I was just a scout; swordsmanship is not my strong suit. This enemy had the upper hand, and I knew that I was going to lose.

He slashed a large cut across my ribs, which bled profusely. Throbbing pain blossomed from the wound. In one last effort, I was able to lock my sword to his and shove him backwards. For a moment, he was off-balance—only a moment. He steeled himself, then made to charge again. I looked my death in the eye, but I wasn't about to go out without a fight.

A gray-shafted arrow sprouted from the enemy's chest, and he crumpled, dead on impact.

I wiped the sweat from my eyes, trying to shake off the confusion that gripped me. This adversary had been coming at me—what happened? I had been ready for death! My resolve was set! Through my clouded vision I saw a mounted figure slowly come to me before dismounting and setting his feet upon the ground. Was he going to dispatch me, also?

Before I had the chance to react on that possibility, the man leaned over me. "You need to get this wound bound," he said gently. I provided no resistance as he did so, his strong, callused hands working diligently. As he worked on my wound, I was able to get a decent look at him: young, small stature, green-and-gray mottled cloak, well-muscled, with wise, deep brown eyes peeking out from under curly brown locks.

I noticed after a moment that the pain across my ribs had diminished greatly. Without the haze of pain, my mind finally put two and two together: this was a Ranger, from the country of Araluen. But what was he doing here?

"Where were you?" I managed to croak. The Ranger continued binding me.

"I've been here in the forest with you," he answered. "You weren't alone. And just a bit ago, I was up on that knoll." He indicated the small rise behind him. "You seemed to need some help," he added.

I nodded. What I had done to catch his eye, I don't know. The Araluens were not a part of this battle; we had no affiliations with them. So this young Ranger was an anomaly, and a confusing one at that.

He had finished bandaging me and was stepping away, beginning to mount his horse. Still being in this fog of confusion, I barely noticed. I cocked my head, gazing at him. "I'll remember you."

He smiled, and was gone.

* * *

At that one point when I had been in need, I had been helped. I wasn't alone. Something about that just doesn't ring 'coincidence' to me. No others ever saw that Ranger, and I never did again. But I _had_, and I'll remember him, as I said; mounted on his small stocky horse, the sun shining behind him and setting the light radiating around him. The Ranger, though not associated with the war we were waging, had his small moment of victory.

It makes me wonder—does he still remember me?

* * *

**A/N:** I'm now going to go ahead and say that this story will now be on a temporary hiatus until I can build up new material. I was not very pleased with this chapter, and I don't enjoy that feeling. Forcing myself to come up with something seems to not yield good results, so instead I'm just going to let it come when it comes. The break starts now.


End file.
